33

                                   [… Atthis,]

although she is in Sardis,

her thoughts often stray here, to us …

[… for you know that she honoured] you

as if you were a goddess

and, most of all, delighted in your song.

But now she surpasses all the women

of Lydia, like the moon,

rose-fingered, after the sun has set,

shining brighter than all the stars; its light

stretches out over the salt-

filled sea and the fields brimming with flowers:

the beautiful dew falls and the roses

and the delicate chervil

and many-flowered honey-clover bloom.

But wandering here and there, she recalls

gentle Atthis with desire

and her tender heart is heavy with grief …

*****